


The Pilot's Dashing Stormtrooper

by imaginary_golux



Series: Harlequin [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Rescue Missions, the First Order are Assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: Poe made a promise that he'd come back and rescue all the Stormtrooper cadets.It's not going to be quite that easy.Beta by my most wonderful Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	1. Chapter 1

Poe dozes for a while, because it turns out that energetic sex after a three-week mission wears a body out - who knew? When he wakes up, it’s to find that Finn is sitting at the head of the bed, stroking Poe’s hair with one hand while he thumbs through something on a datapad with the other, and that Poe is, in fact, rather sore. A number of normally-unused muscles are informing him that they have just been very _well-_ used and they are rather surprised by this.

“There’s painkillers on the table,” Finn says softly as Poe blinks himself awake, and Poe nuzzles against the warm thigh his face is pressed against and hums his thanks, then flops over inelegantly to fumble for the pills and swallows them dry. Then, because he can, he curls back up around Finn’s sturdy leg and lets Finn pet his hair until the last vestiges of sleep have worn away.

“Need a shower,” he says, finally. Finn chuckles softly.

“Same,” he admits, and Poe rolls out of bed and offers Finn a hand up, which Finn takes - and then uses to reel Poe in a little closer and kiss him thoroughly. Poe’s knees do _not_ go weak, thank you very much - or, well, not _very_ weak. He’s getting better at not swooning every time Finn kisses him, at any rate.

Showering with Finn is just as much fun as it was the first time, but Poe can’t help laughing when Finn lets out a happy little sigh as he buries his hands in Poe’s hair and starts massaging in the shampoo. “What _is_ it about my hair?” he asks, leaning into Finn’s clever hands. “I do not understand the obsession with it.”

“It’s just so _soft_ ,” Finn says. “And - well - I’m still not used to how _much_ hair everyone has outside the First Order, you know. But I don’t know what everyone _else’s_ excuse is.”

Poe chuckles. “Well, I don’t mind - when it’s you, anyhow,” he admits. “Feel free to play with my hair anytime.”

“Thanks,” Finn says, and leans Poe gently back into the shower spray to rinse the suds from his hair. Poe relaxes into Finn’s hands easily, trusting Finn to keep him from falling.

*

While they’re toweling off, Poe asks, “What’s new while I was gone?”

“Some new recruits,” Finn says, hooking his towel over the bar and striding unselfconsciously across the room to where his clothes are neatly folded on a chair. Poe admires the view. “Lots of scared kids from the New Republic - what’s left of it - who want to fight and don’t know how, so I’ve been running trainings pretty much every day. A couple more pilots for you, and one of the worlds that isn’t _completely_ bewildered - I forget the name - sent half a dozen older-model X-Wings and eight pilots. They’ve been working out with Pava, and I think at least a couple are good enough to keep - she hasn’t been swearing constantly, at any rate.”

Poe laughs. “That’s a high compliment, from her,” he says approvingly.

Finn nods. “Let me see...Snap and Kare went out on a short scouting run, and I think they found _something_ though I don’t know what yet - the General’s being very tight-lipped. And Rey managed to get a quick comm message through, says she’s working hard and Skywalker thinks they should be able to join the rest of us within, oh, six to eight weeks.” He shrugs. “I mean, I’d like her here _yesterday_ , but...if that’s as long as it takes, that’s as long as it takes.”

Poe carefully quashes a moment of exceedingly immature jealousy. “She seemed like a pretty awesome person,” he says. “I wish I’d had more time to get to know her before she left.”

Finn smiles. “She’s...I used to wonder what having a real brother or sister would be like. Now I know.”

Poe is _exceedingly_ grateful he didn’t say anything stupid. “She’s lucky to have a brother like you,” he tells Finn solemnly.

Finn lights up. “Yeah?” he says, and then pulls Poe close for another of those mind-blowing kisses. “Well,” Finn adds as they break apart, “I’m lucky to have _her_. And I’m lucky to have you, too.”

“Not half so lucky as I am, buddy,” Poe assures him.

Finn chuckles. “I think we may need to disagree on that,” he says cheerfully.

*

Poe is planning on heading for the mess hall and then finding Connix to see when the General’s going to be available, but his plans are slightly derailed when he opens the door to find Clover standing to attention against the corridor wall. He stops dead in the doorway, and Finn nearly runs into him, catching himself with an arm around Poe’s waist.

“Everything alright, Clover?” Poe asks, baffled.

“Sir,” Clover says. “I reported to Doctor Kalonia as ordered, and she instructed me that my duties were to ‘heal and explore.’ I - I don’t understand my orders, sir.” She looks terrified, like Poe is going to be mad at her for her ignorance.

“Ah,” says Poe, glancing over his shoulder at Finn, who is clearly suppressing a smile. “I tell you what. You just - um - tag along with me, today, and I’ll show you where everything is. And if I need to go to a meeting, I’ll send you to Finn, and he can - um -”

“You can assist me in demonstrating basic training maneuvers to our new recruits,” Finn says calmly. “They’re as clumsy as the fourth-year cadets.”

Clover doesn’t giggle, but it looks like she wants to. “Yes, sir,” she says, and falls in behind them as they head towards the mess hall.

“Fourth-year cadets?” Poe asks curiously.

“Five-year-olds,” Finn explains.

“Ah,” Poe says, and winces. “That good, hey?”

Finn sighs. “Oh, they’re all _trying_ , but I’ve got a couple who honestly can’t tell their left hands from their right, and one who trips over the lines on the floor.”

Poe can’t help laughing. “I have faith in your ability as a teacher,” he assures Finn, who raises their joined hands and kisses Poe’s knuckles. Poe can feel his ears going hot.

*

Clover follows them through the mess hall line, mimicking everything Poe does. Poe carefully doesn’t take anything too spicy or startling, because the last thing Clover needs is a traumatic food experience on top of everything else, and from what Finn has said, Stormtroopers don’t get any type of food beyond basic ration bars and something called “slurry,” which is apparently highly nutritious and utterly devoid of any trace of flavor. Poe remembers _Finn’s_ early experiences with Resistance food, which mostly consisted of Finn trying little bites of pretty much anything and then going into raptures. (Very _attractive_ raptures, and yes, as Poe has just recently learned, Finn does in fact wear a very similar expression in more... _intimate_ moments, which is a fact Poe does not plan on sharing with pretty much anyone else ever.)

So Poe chooses soup and bread and a tall glass of sweet-apple juice and one of the enormous cookies that are a specialty of one of the cooks, and takes a seat at the end of one of the long tables. Finn sits down next to him, so close their legs are touching, and Clover sits down gingerly across from him, looking faintly apprehensive, as if worried she’s going to be scolded for taking the seat.

“Eat up,” Poe encourages her.

“If you don’t like something, leave it,” Finn adds gently. “There’s no penalty for leaving food on your plate, here.”

Clover nods solemnly and takes a bite of the bread, and her eyes go very wide. She stares at the bread for a while, chewing slowly, and then looks up at Poe with an expression of such astonished delight that Poe’s heart hurts in his chest. “Good, isn’t it?” he asks quietly.

Clover nods and takes another tiny, wondering bite. “Sir,” she says quietly, “what is this?”

“Bread,” Poe says, and under the cover of the table he takes Finn’s hand. Finn squeezes back reassuringly, and leans against Poe’s shoulder. “It’s made of flour and water and yeast, mostly, although this also has rosemary and black pepper in it.”

“Is - is making bread an optional skill program, here?” she asks hopefully, and Poe glances at Finn, who squeezes his hand again and smiles.

“We’ll ask the bakers,” Finn says. “I am sure they would be pleased to train you, if you wish to acquire that skill.”

“ _Yes,_ sir,” Clover breathes.

“Tell you what,” Poe says, “we’ll ask after breakfast, and then I’ll send you down to the training yard with Finn, and you can help him while I go talk to the General.”

Finn gives Poe a curious look. Poe shrugs. “I’ve got half an inkling of a plan,” he says quietly, nodding at Clover as she discovers the delights of barley and vegetable soup and dropping his voice even more, “to get the rest of them out. But the General will have to okay it.”

Finn kisses him, sweet and chaste, and Clover gasps and drops her spoon with a _clang_ , then fumbles to pick it up again, eyes wide, when Poe turns to look at her.

There’s a pause, and then Finn says, gently, “It’s not against regulations, here.” He glances at Poe and shrugs. “Especially since we’re not in the same chain of command.”

“Oh,” Clover says quietly. “So it’s - it’s not -”

Poe realizes abruptly what Clover is probably _really_ worried about, and says, firmly, “No one here shares anyone’s bed unless they all _want_ to be there. That _is_ against regulations.”

Clover nods, looking slightly less panicked. “Yes, sir.”

Finn nods solemnly. “I’ll tell you about the regulations on our way down to the training yard,” he says. “They’re not much like the Order’s, really, but they do make sense, for the most part.”

“Only for the most part?” Poe asks, amused.

“Well, you have these really strange ideas about proper armor,” Finn teases, and Poe laughs so hard his sides hurt, and even little Clover dares to giggle too.


	2. Chapter 2

The head cook is delighted to take on a student, and with that safely settled, Poe sends Clover and Finn off to go demonstrate to the unfortunate infantry recruits how very much improvement is necessary, and heads for the General’s office. She is sitting at her desk, bent over a datapad, when he knocks gently at the doorframe, and looks up to smile at him.

“I thought you’d still be with your young man,” she says, voice warm with amusement. “What’s so important that it brings you to my door?”

“I’ve got a request, ma’am,” Poe says, taking a seat when she nods. “Or - more like the outline of a plan, I guess. See, I promised one of the young Stormtroopers that I’d come back for the rest of them.”

“And you don’t think he passed that on to his commanding officer immediately, so as to set a trap?” General Organa asks curiously.

“No, ma’am, I don’t,” Poe says firmly.

“Hmmm,” General Organa says, leaning back in her chair and regarding him levelly. “Well. Certainly the _last_ time you trusted a Stormtrooper it came out quite well. You’ve got good instincts, Dameron. If you tell me this young Stormtrooper won’t betray you, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Poe says gratefully.

“Now, since you’ve made this promise, how do you propose to go about fulfilling it?” General Organa asks, and Poe grins, leaning forward excitedly.

“So I was reading through the information I pulled off the Commandant’s datapads on the way back,” he says, “and apparently the oldest cadet class are almost due to be picked up and brought to their final training base. The transports should be arriving in - um - just under two months. And the Commandant’s files had all the codes the transports will be using to authenticate themselves on arrival. And we’ve got half a dozen nice _big_ transports, ma’am. If you give me the transports and a decent number of Pathfinders -”

“You could clear out this training base,” General Organa says, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Retrieve the young ‘troopers, kill the officers or take them prisoner, leave the base in ruins. One fewer pesthole to worry about.”

“Exactly,” Poe says eagerly.

“And leave us with several hundred traumatized children, not all of whom will thank us for retrieving them,” the General points out.

Poe wilts a little. “There’s that,” he admits. “But - I’d rather have to figure out how to deal with _that_ , than shoot them down and know I’m killing brainwashed children that I could have saved.”

General Organa nods approvingly. “Good man,” she says. “So. Tell me how you’re going to get six transports through First Order space and back again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe says, and settles in for a proper planning session, grinning so widely his cheeks ache as he does.

*

He meets up with Finn and Clover again for lunch, to find them both beaming with pride. Finn pats Clover on the shoulder as they sit down - Clover has a tray of stew and bread, and a cookie, which Poe is definitely looking forward to seeing her try. “This cadet just trounced every one of my new trainees in hand-to-hand,” Finn tells Poe proudly.

“Well done!” Poe tells Clover, beaming. “That’s very impressive!”

Clover blushes. “Thank you, sir,” she says quietly, but she’s smiling, so Poe thinks he’s done alright.

“How did your meeting with the General go?” Finn asks, handing Poe a roll. Poe takes it happily, leaning against Finn’s shoulder and reveling in the way Finn leans back.

“Very well,” he says. “She’ll probably be calling both of us in for a strategy meeting in the next few days.”

“Both?” Finn asks, surprised.

“You’ll be leading the Pathfinders,” Poe explains. “Both because you know what we’re going into, and because you’d be the best choice in any case.”

Finn smiles, broad and warm, and leans over to kiss Poe’s cheek. “Thank you,” he murmurs in Poe’s ear.

“You _are_ the best choice,” Poe says, grinning. “Always, and for everything.”

Clover giggles. “You’re very silly, sir,” she says, and then blushes crimson when Poe grins at her.

“Guilty as charged,” Poe says cheerfully. “That’s one of the nice things about the Resistance - you’re allowed to be silly.”

“Is it required, sir?” Clover asks seriously. Poe shakes his head.

“Not at all,” he assures her. “Lots of people are very sensible and not at all silly.”

Clover nods and takes a bite of her cookie, then stares down at it with an expression of raw astonishment. “What - what _is_ this, sir?”

“Chocolate chip cookie,” Poe says. “And if you ask the cooks, I bet they’ll teach you how to make those, too. It’s really quite easy.”

Clover eats the rest of the cookie in three enormous bites, as though worried that it will vanish if she takes too long. As she finishes, one of the cooks comes over, wiping her hands on her apron.

“If the youngling wishes to begin to learn, we would be pleased to have her assistance this afternoon,” she says politely. Clover turns enormous hopeful eyes to Finn and Poe.

“Of course,” Finn says at once, and Poe nods.

“Go for it, kiddo,” he says, and Clover shoots to her feet, gathering up her tray and trotting after the cook with a huge grin on her face. Poe leans against Finn and sighs happily.

“She’s doing well,” he says.

“She’ll probably hit a wall sometime in the next few days,” Finn says thoughtfully. “Took me about that long after I woke up. The reality that she’s not there anymore - it’s a lot to take in.”

“Damn,” Poe says softly. “Well. We’ll keep an eye out for it, then.”

Finn nods. “She’ll need - structure,” he says slowly. “It’ll help.”

“If she helps you in the mornings and has lessons in the afternoons, perhaps?” Poe suggests. “And we’ll have meals with her whenever we can. And she’ll need regular therapy appointments, too.”

Finn nods. “Good plan,” he agrees.

“She’s strong,” Poe says softly. “She’ll get through.”

*

The General calls for a strategy meeting two days later. Poe is slightly startled to see how many people she’s called in, but then again, if this works, there might be the potential to repeat the mission, to take _many_ Stormtrooper cadets and training bases away from the First Order. This could become one of the defining moments of the war, if Poe can make it work.

“Commander Dameron,” the General says, nodding to him. “Explain your plan, and we will attempt to find any weaknesses and repair them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe says, and taps the holomap on. “So. We are here.” He points to D’Qar. Snap chuckles, and Poe grimaces at him. “This is Training Base 4 - lovely imaginative names the First Order uses, don’t you think?” The little planet icon lights up red as he taps it. “As you can see, it’s right in the heart of First Order space, and, unfortunately, all of the best approach lanes are well patrolled.” A few more taps light up the known First Order patrol lanes, making a spiderweb of light around the glowing planet.

“In just under two months,” Poe says, tracing one of the lines with a careful finger, “six transports will arrive at Training Base 4 to collect the fifteen-year-old cadets and bring them to the next stage of their transformation into Stormtroopers. They will approach from galactic west, using very specific transponder codes to announce themselves.” He turns to grin at his audience. “And if we are very careful and very clever, those six transports will be ours, and they won’t just be taking the oldest cadets - they’ll be taking every last one.”

“What will we _do_ with them?” Admiral Statura asks, leaning forward and frowning.

“I have been in contact with some of our allies,” General Organa says. “The children will have safe houses waiting for them, with very good therapists - I was quite specific about that.”

Poe blinks. The General works _fast_ when she wants to.

“Surely there are guards,” Admiral Ackbar says dubiously.

“There are,” Poe agrees, “but not many. If I have even a dozen Pathfinders I suspect we’ll have no trouble on the ground at all - though I’d prefer more, naturally. And I’ll want Finn to lead them, since he’s the most familiar with First Order deployments and the best suited to imitate a First Order officer, should we need someone to do so.”

Finn nods gravely. “If the General will allow?”

“I will,” General Organa says, nodding.

“Won’t they expect the transports to be guarded?” Major Brance puts in. “We haven’t any warships to send with you.”

“That’s part of the beauty of it,” Poe replies, grinning. “Since it’s so deep in First Order space, they don’t expect any trouble. The cadet transports don’t have escort ships at all.”

“Won’t that change since you were there? They’ll be expecting trouble _now_ ,” Major Brance points out, frowning.

“They will,” Finn agrees, “but the First Order is very reluctant to change a routine once it’s been set. If the cadet transports haven’t ever been escorted before, it would take an actual attack on them to induce the commanders to send escorts, even if there’s a good reason to suspect an attack _might_ happen. So even if the Commandant sent word to his commanders that there’s been a spy - which he might not have, actually, since that would be a good way for him to get demoted, given that he didn’t _catch_ the spy - they most likely won’t have changed anything much. They don’t actually know what Poe took, after all - and they almost certainly won’t suspect us of wanting the _cadets_.”

There’s a brief pause. Poe takes a deep breath. “We _can_ do this,” he says solemnly. “And we _should_ do this. It will take resources away from the First Order - not just now, but in the future. It will rescue hundreds of children from brainwashing and slavery. And, once they’ve been sent to safe houses in the New Republic, it will help to galvanize public opinion in our favor. It’s going to be very hard for the First Order to argue that they have anything resembling the moral high ground when we have _literally rescued child soldiers_ from them. And frankly, we need all the public support we can get. Right now, people in the New Republic are _scared_. Starkiller may be gone, but we can’t promise there isn’t another one under construction. We need them _angry_. I think this might just be enough to make that happen.”

General Organa nods. “We can, we should, and we _must_. Gentlebeings, let’s do this.”


	3. Chapter 3

Poe collects Clover from the cooks at dinnertime, and finds her so full of joy that it’s hard to remember that only just over a week ago this child was curled into a tiny, terrified ball on Poe’s bunk, waiting to learn what terrible fate was about to befall her. She looks almost like a normal child, now, bright-eyed and cheerful, head held high as the cooks praise her attention to detail; and the shy smile she gives Poe as she offers him a bread roll which she apparently helped make is almost heartbreakingly sweet.

Even if the bread was appallingly bad, Poe would have praised it; but it is in fact, very good, and he devours the roll and licks his fingers clean, beaming at her. “You learn _fast_ ,” he says, reaching out slowly to pat her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch, which is probably a good sign. “Well done - _very_ well done.”

“Thank you, sir!” she chirps, and gets herself a tray of baked fish and bread rolls and salad, imitating Poe’s choices again, and follows him over to the table where Finn is waiting.

“The bread rolls are her work,” Poe informs Finn as they sit down, and Finn beams approvingly at Clover.

“Very good,” he says, and Clover’s shoulders go back as she sits up a little straighter with pride. “Do you still want this to be one of your optional skill programs?”

“Yes, sir!” Clover says eagerly.

Finn nods. “Then we’ll arrange for you to spend the early afternoons with the cooks,” he says, and Poe nods too.

“Very useful life skill, being able to cook,” he agrees. “Sensible choice.”

“Mornings with me and the trainees or doing self-directed academics,” Finn says thoughtfully. “Early afternoons with the cooks; late afternoons with the therapists down at medical, and yes, that is a required assignment. Evenings - I go for a run every evening with the Pathfinders; would you like to come along, Clover?”

“Yes, sir,” Clover says immediately. Poe laughs.

“And I will _not_ come along, thank you very much,” he says cheerfully. “Ugh, running.”

“Pilots are not required to be able to complete a standard unit in full pack,” Clover says, nodding. “Pilots are to be protected by ground troops in the event that a pilot should be removed from his ship.”

“Um,” Poe says. “That...is roughly accurate, yes. But mostly I just really don’t like running. The pilots go out for a jog every couple of days, because we _have_ to, but none of us really _likes_ it. Except Kare, but she’s weird.”

Clover blinks at him in clear incomprehension. Poe sighs. “Nevermind,” he says gently. “Go ahead and go running with Finn. I’ll be doing paperwork.”

“Yes, sir,” Clover says dubiously, but she also picks up a fork and tries the fish, so probably Poe hasn’t scarred her _too_ badly. Yet.

*

True to Finn’s prediction, three days later Clover won’t come out of her room. Poe knocks on the door until a tiny, shaking voice comes floating out: “Sir?”

“Are you ill?” Poe asks.

“No, sir,” Clover says, very faintly. Poe has to strain to hear it.

“Are you injured?”

“No, sir.”

“...May I come in?”

There’s a long, long pause. And then, so quietly it’s almost inaudible, “Yes, sir.”

Poe opens the door to find Clover curled up in a tiny ball in the far corner of her bunk, blanket hiding everything but her wide terrified eyes. He sighs and half-closes the door behind him, then sits down on the floor beside the bunk and leans back against it, not quite looking at her.

“Finn’s getting you some cookies from the mess hall,” he says softly. “And I’m just gonna sit here and...do paperwork, I guess, and make sure no one but Finn comes in. Alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Clover whispers.

“And if you want to talk about - about anything, you just go ahead,” Poe says carefully. “I promise I won’t be mad. And I’m not a trained therapist, but kiddo, I will do my best to help, if I can.”

There’s a long silence, and Poe occupies himself with some of the never-ending paperwork that being Commander of the pilots provides. Thankfully it’s mindless enough that he can keep half an eye on the door and most of his remaining attention on the little quivering heap which is his accidental ward.

Finn shows up after about fifteen minutes, with a sausage-stuffed bread roll for Poe and a little heap of cookies wrapped in a napkin that he puts down carefully on the bunk, about halfway between Poe and Clover’s curled form, before kissing Poe thoroughly and heading out again for his morning training group. Poe has already sent a message to Snap asking him to run the exercise the pilots are supposed to do today. Poe will go up with them tomorrow, once Snap and Pava and Kare have worn the shiny off the newbies.

“Sir?” Clover asks, very quietly, nearly an hour later - Poe has actually finished all his paperwork, for a miracle, and is reading a romance novel, grinning to himself every time the heroine swoons. He thumbs the datapad off as soon as Clover speaks.

“Yes?”

“Why me, sir? Why me, and not the others?”

Poe takes a deep breath. “Because you were there, and hurt, and I could only take one of you,” he says quietly. “Really I shouldn’t have taken _any_ of you, but I could not bear to leave you there.” He grimaces. “But I’m not leaving the others there, you know. We’re going back for them - we’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks. I’m going to get _all_ of your comrades out, Clover, I promise. I’ll get them all out, or I’ll die trying. And kiddo, I’m very hard to kill.”

“They said you were captured by _Lord Ren_ ,” Clover says. Poe glances over to see that she has uncurled a little, and also managed to snag a cookie, which she is nibbling tentatively.

“I was,” Poe agrees, wincing. “It was...not pleasant.”

“They said you corrupted FN-2187,” Clover says. “That he was a perfect Stormtrooper and you - um - seducted him.”

Poe snorts a laugh and covers his mouth in embarrassment. “I think the word you want is ‘seduced,’ kiddo, and - um. No. I did not seduce him.” He swallows down another burst of laughter. “Sort of the opposite, actually. And not until _well_ after we’d escaped the _Finalizer_.”

“Oh,” Clover says, and finishes her cookie thoughtfully. And then she says, “They said - they said if the Resistance got us, they’d torture us for information. That Resistance officers had chosen to be forces of chaos, and they’d do horrible things to us before we died. They said anyone who got captured was as good as dead and anyone who defected was the worst sort of traitor and must really have been an agent of chaos all along and I’m - I’m _not_!” And she bursts into tears.

“Oh damn,” Poe says, and slews around to look at her properly. He doesn’t dare reach out to touch her - she almost certainly would not take it well - but he wants to gather her up in his arms and hum lullabies until she stops crying, the way his mother used to do for him. “No, you’re not,” he says instead. “You’re as orderly a person as I’ve ever met, and you’re _certainly_ not an agent of chaos. Besides, you didn’t make a choice about defecting, did you? I stole you. You were _unconscious_.”

“I should’ve - I should’ve figured out how to get back,” Clover says, sniffing hard. “I _still_ should. Every day I spend here is treason. But I don’t - I don’t _want_ to go back, sir. I want to stay here with you and Finn and Teela and Bron -” the cooks, Poe realizes after a moment of confusion - “and learn to make bread and help teach the trainees and talk to Doctor Kalonia about muscle growth and - and - and that means I’m a traitor, too!”

Poe is honestly not trained for this sort of thing. He wishes desperately that Finn were here - Finn at least has been on the _other_ side of this particular crisis, though admittedly he _chose_ to leave the First Order and therefore presumably had _slightly_ less of a panicked reaction when the reality finally sank in - but Finn has duties he cannot shirk, and in any case, as much as Clover clearly _likes_ Finn, the only person she appears to really _trust_ , in all the Resistance, is Poe.

He takes a deep breath and considers his words very carefully. “You are,” he says at last, and Clover takes a great gulping breath and stops sobbing, staring at him with wide and hopeful eyes, “a child. No matter what the First Order told you, you are a _child_. You are ten years old, and for humans, that is a good five years before even the most _lenient_ of cultures would consider you an adult. Most would not consider you to be so until eighteen or even twenty-one. And in very nearly every human culture, you cannot make true vows - binding ones, ones that hold you in the eyes of your people and your gods, like swearing to be faithful to a country or a person or an ideology - until you are full-grown.”

Clover nods slowly, clearly listening intently to every word.

“You are a child,” Poe says again, softly but clearly. “You cannot have made a true vow to the First Order, because you are too young. So no matter what they say, you are no traitor, because you made no true oath. If, when you are grown up, you choose to go to them and promise to follow them, I will be sad, but I will not call you a traitor, because you are a child now, and do not owe us _anything_. Do you understand?”

“I...I think so,” Clover says slowly. “But I won’t go back to them - I _won’t_! Not ever!”

“I hope so,” Poe tells her solemnly. “I hope, by the time you are grown, there is no First Order to go back to, and no more children being trained to be Stormtroopers. That’s what we’re working towards, we Resistance fighters.”

Clover wipes her tears with the back of her hand and comes half-tumbling off the bed into Poe’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against his chest. “I’ll help,” she says, muffled. “When I’m all grown up and old enough, I’ll help. You’ll see.”

“I have no doubt at all,” Poe says. “I think you are going to do great things someday, little Clover.”

“I will,” she says, and subsides into sniffling, still clinging to him.

Poe sits quietly until her sniffles turn into soft snores, and then tucks her carefully into bed and goes off to find Finn, who has thankfully finished his morning’s training, and cling to his beloved for a while, taking comfort in Finn’s rock-steady strength and the warmth of his enfolding arms.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks pass in a blur of training flights and strategy meetings. Poe is endlessly grateful that Finn has apparently decided to sleep in Poe’s room as a regular matter of course, because having Finn beside him is often the only thing that lets Poe quiet his whirling mind long enough to fall asleep. Finn’s addictive kisses are always able to distract Poe, though, and Poe is starting to think he has very nearly a full catalog of the different kinds of kisses it is possible to receive. There are the long slow warm kisses right before they fall asleep, and the quick chaste ones when they wake up but before they brush their teeth, and the hungry desperate ones as they fall into bed if they both have enough energy to do something about being naked and in private, and the soft joyful ones when they meet up at mealtimes, and the searingly ravenous ones when Poe gets back from a training flight and comes stumbling out of Black One onto the tarmac with BB-8 beeping laughter behind him. There are kisses full of laughter and kisses that demand thought and kisses that make Poe’s knees go weak and kisses that make him want to curl up in Finn’s lap and purr like a particularly well-fed pittin.

...Which he does, and which makes Finn laugh and then run his fingers through Poe’s hair in a particularly soothing manner that Poe has become remarkably fond of - so _that’s_ alright then.

And then, at last, it is the night before they are to leave.

Finn is sprawled out on his back on Poe’s bed - _their_ bed, now, Poe hopes - with Poe’s head resting on his shoulder and one of Poe’s legs tucked over both of his. He’s running his fingers through Poe’s hair, too, which is part of why Poe has his eyes half-closed and is making soft happy noises deep in his throat.

“If this works,” Finn says quietly, and Poe makes a sound to show he’s listening. “If this works, do you think the General will let us do it again?”

“I think she’ll insist on it,” Poe replies. “It makes military _and_ ethical sense, and if we can keep the officers from sending any messages, with any luck the higher-ups won’t even know what happened, which will give us a lot more leeway when it comes to doing it again.”

“Good,” Finn says firmly. “I want - I want to get them _all_ out, all the cadets - all the _children_. No one should _ever_ have to grow up like that. Like I did.”

“Buddy, I could not possibly agree more,” Poe says fervently. “Even if it _didn’t_ make any military sense, I’d be arguing for this - it’s just easier to convince the officers since it _does_. But - kriff, Finn, seeing those kids - even if I hadn’t promised Point I’d come back, I’d do it. They deserve real childhoods, real _choices_.”

“You’re a good man, Poe Dameron,” Finn says quietly, and Poe pushes himself up on one elbow to kiss the soft smile from Finn’s sweet lips.

*

The transports are unwieldy things, compared to Poe’s beloved Black One, but they’re also in rather better shape than the X-Wings, since they go into battle less often, so Poe doesn’t spend as much time worrying about whether the hyperdrive is going to give out. He’d _still_ rather be in a fighter, but needs must when the devil drives, as his aunties like to say.

Poe has the lead transport, of course, with Pava as his co-pilot and Finn and half a dozen Pathfinders as his passengers. Pava gives Poe a truly worrying look once they’re off the ground and says, “So, Dameron. What’ll you give me if I take night shifts so you can spend some time with your lovely soldier boy, hmm?”

Poe sighs at her as dramatically as he can. “Three bottles of Corellian whiskey and dibs on the next shipment of X-Wing parts?” he offers.

“Five bottles,” Pava says, grinning, and Poe wrinkles his nose at her and grimaces.

“Four bottles,” he says, “and I tell you which of our ridiculously attractive passengers might, possibly, maybe have an inexplicable interest in a certain overly-clever pilot I could name.”

Pava’s eyes light up. “ _Three_ bottles and you tell me right now.”

“Deal,” Poe says, laughing, and leans in to whisper the name in her ear, then watches with vast amusement as she goes trotting down the hall towards the Pathfinders’ quarters. A few minutes later Finn comes in, grinning widely.

“Did you sic Pava on one of my Pathfinders, Poe?” he asks, settling into the co-pilot’s seat with his hands well away from the controls.

“Maaaaybe,” Poe replies, grinning just as wide.

Finn chuckles. “Well, thank you - the pining was getting to be a bit much,” he admits. “I kept _telling_ him Pava wouldn’t bite his head off, but -”

“People are stupid when they’re in love,” Poe says solemnly, and manages to keep a straight face for all of thirty seconds before he and Finn both fall about laughing so hard Poe’s sides ache when he finally straightens up.

“Not like us,” Finn agrees in very serious tones, and sets them both off again.

*

They are three days into First Order space when Finn comes into the cockpit with a frown on his lovely face. “I think we have a stowaway,” he says as soon as Poe turns to look at him.

“What?” Poe asks, half-rising from his seat in surprise.

“Someone’s been into the rations - not enough to make much of a dent, but enough to notice,” Finn says, shrugging. “It’s not one of my Pathfinders, and I’m willing to bet it’s not you or Pava either, because you’d come in openly, not sneak in while we’re all at drills. That leaves mice or stowaways, or possibly BB-8 deciding that it likes ration bars.” He grins at the little droid, which beeps cheerfully back at him.

“Probably not that last option,” Poe admits, settling back in his chair. “But I can’t think of who would have stowed away rather than letting us know they wanted to come along - oh, _kriff_ ,” he finishes, as it hits him. “Clover.”

Finn puts a hand over his eyes. “Of course,” he says wearily. “She probably wants to help - and I know she prefers not to be very far away from you. She won’t come on the training hikes because they go too far from the base.”

“You don’t - you don’t think she’s planning to - to alert the First Order?” Poe asks faintly, horrified by the very thought.

“No,” Finn says, slumping down into the co-pilot’s chair. “No, if anything I suspect she’s come along to see to it that all her comrades really _do_ make it out. She’s not going to betray you, Poe. She _adores_ you.” His lips quirk in a crooked grin. “If nothing else, I know what _that_ looks like.”

Poe chuckles. “Not, I think, in quite the same way you do,” he points out.

“Thank goodness,” Finn says, rubbing a hand over his face. “Now _that_ would be awkward.”

“If she’s managed to keep hidden this long,” Poe says thoughtfully, “I don’t know how easy it’s going to be to catch her - and frankly I’d prefer not to have your Pathfinders hunt her down.”

“No, she’d be scared stiff,” Finn agrees immediately. “She probably expects to be disciplined severely _anyway_ , and having my troops drag her back by the scruff of the neck won’t help.”

“Kriff it, I’m not going to -” Poe starts, and Finn holds up a hand, smiling crookedly.

“ _I_ know that, and _you_ know that, but she’s only a month out of the First Order,” he points out. “I spent the first week I was awake terrified that General Organa was going to order me to be tortured for information and then decommissioned. I don’t think Clover’s worried about _that_ , though mostly because she hasn’t spent any time with the General. But she’s almost certainly terrified that you’ll - you’ll give up on her, I’d guess.” Finn shrugs and sighs. “It’s not a good thing when officers pay attention to you,” he adds quietly. “She knows that a hell of a lot better than _I_ ever did, and I knew that before I could recite my own designation.”

“But -” Poe says, shaken. “She isn’t afraid of me.”

“No,” Finn agrees. “I don’t think she actually thinks of you as an _officer_ , really. She calls you ‘sir,’ but she calls every adult person ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ because that’s what cadets _do_. But if I had to guess - well, I haven’t very much experience with the idea myself, but I think she thinks of you as - as a father.”

“Well shit,” Poe says, after a moment of blank staring. “When we get back to base, then, remind me to comm my dad and tell him he’s got a granddaughter. _That’ll_ surprise him.”

“Why?” Finn asks, frowning.

Poe raises an eyebrow at his lover. “Because you’re the first person to share my bed, and in the normal course of things I’d need to have taken a lover in order to have children?”

“Oh,” Finn says, and laughs. “Right. Sorry. I - don’t quite understand families, sometimes.”

Poe winces. “I’m going to bring you to Yavin, one of these days,” he promises solemnly, “and you can meet my dad and all my aunts and uncles and cousins.”

“That’ll be nice,” Finn says. “Do you think they’ll like me?”

“Buddy,” Poe says, “they will _love_ you.” He grins. “If for no other reason than that _I_ love you, and they’ve all despaired of my ever finding someone. They’ll see you as the godsend you are.”

Finn chuckles. “A godsend, huh?”

Poe nods fervently. “And if I didn’t have to keep an eye on the controls, I’d show you _just_ how grateful I am for that.”

Finn smiles and rises, bending over Poe’s chair to take his mouth in a long, sweet, absolutely devastating kiss. Poe blinks up at his lover dazedly when Finn finally straightens again.

“Hold that thought until tonight,” Finn suggests, grinning wickedly. “I’m off to run my Pathfinders through their paces again.”

“How the _kriff_ am I supposed to concentrate on flying _now_?” Poe grouses, grinning back. “Out of my cockpit, you distracting man!”

Finn chuckles and goes, and Poe is not ashamed of the fact that he watches his beautiful lover until Finn turns a corner and is entirely out of sight. Then Poe turns back to his controls with a sigh, one hand coming up to touch his lips. _Kriff_ , but he will _never_ get tired of Finn’s kisses, not if they live a thousand years or more.


	5. Chapter 5

“Huh,” Pava says, tapping the controls to zoom in on the tiny planet which is their destination. “It looks too pretty to be such a hellhole.”

“Well, once we’ve gotten rid of the training base, maybe it’ll live up to its potential,” Poe replies grimly. “Finn, you ready?”

“Yep,” Finn says, squaring his shoulders. He’s standing in front of the viewscreen pickup, wearing the uniform of a First Order captain, with a stern and humorless expression on his face. Poe, blinking at him, thinks that if the universe were otherwise, if the First Order had been smart enough to snatch Finn from the ranks and raise him to command, he might have become in truth what he is mimicking now. Isn’t _that_ a terrifying thought.

Finn is pretending to be a captain because the efficient, deplorable Commandant of the training base is only a commander, and Finn wants every advantage possible during the upcoming conversation. The more off-balance and unsettled the Commandant is, the better, so far as Finn is concerned, and Poe can’t help but agree.

Then again, Poe is looking forward with some relish to finally getting to shoot the Commandant right in his well-coiffed and appalling _head_ , so...he’s not precisely an unbiased observer.

“We’ll be crossing their surveillance border in...ten minutes from my mark,” he says. “Aaaand... _mark_.”

“Ten minutes aye,” Finn replies. “Got the right codes up?”

“Of course,” Pava says indignantly. “What do you take me for, an amateur?”

“Just checking,” Finn soothes, and Pava shakes herself a little and grins at him.

“Sorry, I’m a bit on edge,” she admits.

“Same,” Poe says grimly. “There’s something deeply _wrong_ about coming at a First Order base without even an _attempt_ at stealth. Though I suppose it’s still less idiotic than attempting to cross a shield barrier at light speed.”

Finn huffs a laugh, losing some of the nervous tension in his shoulders. “Yeah, no, that was _really_ stupid. But hey: if it’s stupid and it works…”

“Then it’s _genius_ ,” Pava says, nodding. “Isn’t that what I keep telling you, Dameron?”

“You can keep saying that all you want, mixing Corellian brandy and Ixtian hallucinogens is _still_ a terrible idea,” Poe says, managing to smile despite his nerves.

“That...sounds really, really stupid,” Finn agrees, chuckling. Pava glares at both of them.

“See if I share any with _you_ , then,” she snaps. “Anyone would think you didn’t _want_ to spend four hours staring at a plain white wall and then wake up with the worst hangover imaginable.” Her deadpan cracks, and she grins proudly as Finn and Poe both snort with undignified laughter.

“Can’t imagine where you got that idea,” Poe agrees, and then the scan-sensor beeps and all humor drops away. Finn straightens his shoulders again and turns to the comm pickup, every inch the First Order captain. Poe and Pava bend over their controls, staying well out of the pickup range.

The comm crackles and clears to display a First Order officer - a lieutenant, if Poe is reading the rank badge correctly - who startles at the sight of Finn and jumps to her feet, coming to brisk attention. “Sir!” she says, instead of whatever challenge she was intending to issue.

“Training Base 4, this is the vessel _Desolation_ ,” Finn snaps. “We will be landing in two standard hours to collect cadet class P-004. Arrange landing clearance and alert your commandant.”

“Yessir!” the lieutenant says. “At once, sir! Ah - how many vessels will be landing, sir?”

“Six, lieutenant,” Finn says, scowling. The lieutenant goes visibly pale, an impressive feat given the blue tint of the comm. Poe would feel sorry for her, but she’s a First Order lieutenant and has been helping to brainwash and torture three hundred children, so...not so much. “As you can clearly see on your plot. I will be addressing your obvious incompetence with your commander.”

“Yessir,” the lieutenant squeaks, looking _very_ unhappy now. “I will alert him to your arrival, sir. He will meet you on the landing field.”

Finn nods curtly and cuts the comm connection, then sags. “That...was not fun,” he says, sounding slightly ill.

“Didn’t sound it,” Poe agrees. “Ugh. But hey, one down, one to go!”

“True,” Finn says, straightening. “I can do this.”

“You can do this,” Poe says, nodding. “ _We_ can do this.”

“We got this,” Pava says, grinning. “But if you guys are gonna keep making eyes at each other, go find a bunk, yeah?”

Poe grimaces at her. “Funny, Pava,” he says grumpily.

“Who’s being funny?” Pava asks, giving him a wide-eyed innocent look. “I’m just trying to be _helpful_!”

“Uh-huh,” Poe nods, and sticks his tongue out at her, most maturely.

*

Poe and Pava put the transport down as gently as any passenger could desire; the other five transports land neatly behind them, one after another like beads on a string. Poe is proud of his pilots: even in unwieldy old tubs like these, they can do anything he asks of them.

Finn and his Pathfinders move towards the ramp. Finn is still dressed as a First Order captain, of course; the two Pathfinders flanking him have been strapped, with much swearing, into captured Stormtrooper armor. The others stay just out of sight.

The Commandant is, as promised, waiting on the landing field. He looks twitchy, Poe decides, squinting at him through the transport’s viewscreen. _Good_. He _should_ look twitchy, the sadistic bastard. Behind him, the oldest cadets are ranged in tidy rows, and off to one side the ten-year-olds are also standing in ranks, still as statues. What Poe assumes to be most of the officer staff of the base are stationed around their charges. Poe does a quick headcount: there are sixteen officers, all looking starched and unhappy, which means, according to the data he absconded with not three months ago, that there are six more somewhere in the base. The unlucky lieutenant in the comm center and five more looking after the youngest cadets, probably.

There are nearly thirty Pathfinders in the transports. Assuming they can keep the cadets out of the fighting, this might actually work.

Finn stops in front of the Commandant, who salutes crisply. “Captain,” he says.

Finn returns the salute. “Commander,” he replies.

Poe is distracted from the exchange of sneering pleasantries by a sudden commotion in the hallways of his transport: “Catch her!” someone yelps, and then, “Ow! Dammit! Grab her!” and then a series of unpleasant thumps. Poe whirls, intending to go and see if he has any more luck snagging Clover than the Pathfinders are, and then Pava swears viciously and he turns back to the viewscreen in time to see Clover come shooting out of the transport.

She sprints across the landing field towards the Commandant - Poe grips the arms of his chair, heart in his throat - and stops dead right in front of him. Every eye is fixed on her, but no one moves for a long, tense moment, the same bafflement gripping every person on the entire field, Resistance and First Order alike.

And then Clover raises a blaster - where the _kriff_ did she get a blaster? - in steady, unshaking hands, and shoots the Commandant squarely in the head.

There’s a brief, still moment as the Commandant’s body crumples to the ground, and then Finn says, voice ringing out over the landing field, “Plan B, go!”

Poe didn’t realize they had anything so formal as _plans_.

Finn moves as quickly as anything Poe has ever seen, as smooth and beautiful as he is on the firing range, his blaster almost _leaping_ into his hand, and beside him the false Stormtroopers draw their own weapons, as the other Pathfinders come boiling out of the transports. By the time they hit the tarmac, though, the battle is half over: Finn’s aim is, as ever, impeccable - Poe has bought drinks for the range officer who likes to tell stories about how many records Finn has broken during his time on base - and there are eight officers down and dead before the Pathfinders even get their blasters aimed.

 _After_ the Pathfinders arrive, of course, it goes even more quickly, the remaining officers falling before they’ve even managed to figure out what’s going on, but Poe can see the cadets starting to glance at each other, clearly preparing to rush the attackers yet unwilling to move without orders. And there, in the front row of the oldest cadets -

Poe leaps to his feet and goes scrambling out of the transport, Pava’s shout of surprise ringing behind him. “What the _kriff_ do you think you’re doing, you madman -”

*

Poe’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, actually, but he skids to a stop between Finn and Clover, facing the young man in the very center of the front rank of the oldest cadets. “Point,” he says, and the cadet gapes.

“Poe Dameron,” he says, after a long moment, and raises a hand, makes a signal Poe doesn’t know. The other cadets begin to relax, though, so it’s probably not the sign to attack. Finn also relaxes, somewhat to Poe’s surprise, until he realizes that of _course_ Finn can read the cadet hand-signs, and sort of wants to slap himself on the forehead except for how he’s busy trying to defuse an absolute clusterkriffer of a situation. “What are you doing here?”

“I did say I’d come back for the rest of you,” Poe says mildly.

Point looks - really _looks_ \- at Clover, who is staring down at the body of the Commandant with a snarl on her small face. “QL-1803,” he says at last.

Clover looks up, still scowling. “My name is _Clover_ ,” she says, clear and shrill.

Point’s eyes go wide. “You have a _name_?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Poe Dameron said I had to have one,” Clover says, nodding. “I got to _choose_.”

Apparently this information is enough to break the careful composure of the ranked cadets, who begin murmuring among themselves. Poe spares the ranks a glance before he focuses on Point again. If he can get Point to cooperate, Poe suspects, the other cadets will follow Point’s lead. But if Point decides the Resistance fighters are his enemies...Poe doesn’t want to think about that.

Point shakes himself a little and looks up at Poe again - not very _far_ up, either, he’s quite a tall young man. “You took her...somewhere,” he says slowly. “She’s obviously not hurt. You gave her a name and a blaster.”

Poe winces. “Technically, I didn’t give her the blaster,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I’m not quite sure where she got that.”

“I took it out of a locker,” Clover says mulishly.

“Of course you did,” Poe sighs.

Point looks at Poe for a long, tense moment. “If we surrender,” he says at last, “what will you do with us?”

“We’ll bring you to a Resistance base,” Poe says slowly, “to make sure you’re all uninjured and in reasonably good health. And then, from there, we’ll bring you to a safe place - I don’t know which world, the General didn’t tell me - where there will be people to care for you, to make sure you have meals and clothing and shelter and medical care and lessons about the rest of the galaxy and everything _else_ that children need.” He takes a deep breath. “What we _won’t_ do is harm you, or decommission you -” Poe hates that particular euphemism, but it’s what the cadets will understand - “or ask you to work against the First Order in any way. I swear it.”

Point looks...well, pointedly, Poe thinks, and winces to himself at the pun...at Clover. Poe shrugs. “Clover was _supposed_ to stay at the base,” he says mildly. Clover winces, and Poe sighs and reaches out, slowly, to pat her on the shoulder. “I understand completely _why_ you stowed away, and why you shot that bastard, but your timing needs a little work, kiddo,” he tells her, smiling.

“Yes, sir,” Clover says, but she stops cringing.

Point considers all of this, carefully, looking from Clover to Poe, to Finn in his dreadful uniform, to the Pathfinders waiting patiently with their blasters easy in their hands, and then finally back to Poe. He straightens up, just a little, puts his shoulders back and meets Poe’s eyes squarely, and says, loudly enough that every cadet can hear him, “We surrender, Commander Dameron.”

“Thank you,” Poe says quietly, nodding. “I accept.”


	6. Chapter 6

It is, of course, not quite that simple, and Poe stays out on the tarmac with two hundred baffled cadets while Finn and his Pathfinders go sweeping into the base to clear out the remaining few officers and bring the youngest children out.

“Point,” Poe asks, once Finn and the Pathfinders are out of sight, “why are the ten-year-olds out here?”

The ten-year-olds are all clustered around Clover, all their hard-won composure forgotten, pelting her with questions. Clover is grinning, so Poe’s not too worried.

“To collect the new cadets,” Point says, as though this should be obvious.

“The...new cadets?” Poe asks, heart sinking.

“Yes,” Point says, giving Poe a funny look. “The transports bring the new cadets - the very small ones. It’s more efficient to only have them make one trip.”

Poe decides that he hates the word _efficient_. “You’re telling me the transports that were _supposed_ to collect you have a bunch of infants on them.”

“Yes, sir,” Point says.

“Well kriff,” Poe says. “That...wasn’t in any of the documentation.” He rubs his forehead. “Presumably because everyone who _needed_ to know that already did. Stars and planets, what a mess.”

“...Sir?” Point asks dubiously. Poe sighs.

“I realize I’m going to lose this argument, but you don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” he says. “Just Poe will do fine. Or Dameron. Either way.”

Point gives him a long, curious look. “The Resistance is _really_ different from what we’ve been taught, isn’t it,” he says at last.

“Yes,” Poe says, shrugging. “Finn says they teach you we’re basically monsters, so you won’t mind shooting at us. So...yeah, everything they told you about us was wrong.”

“How does...Finn...know that?” Point asks, frowning.

“Oh, right,” Poe slaps his forehead, “you wouldn’t know. Up until about...um...six months ago, kriff, has it only been that long? - he was a Stormtrooper. He got me off the _Finalizer_ when I was captured.”

“He was _FN-2187_?” Point gasps. “They told us about him! They said he’d betrayed us all and then the wicked Resistance had tortured him to death!”

“Um,” Poe says. “Arguably he did in fact betray the First Order, yes. But there’s been no torture whatsoever, I promise.”

“Oh,” Point says, marveling.

There’s a faint explosion from the base, and Poe winces. “And I think I need to go tell him not to bring the damn place down just yet,” he says wearily.

“No, here he comes,” Point says, and sure enough, Finn and the Pathfinders come trotting out of the base with a small horde of children at their heels and - to Poe’s surprise - two full-grown Stormtroopers, their helmets off but the rest of their white armor gleaming in the sun, bringing up the rear. Poe can’t help taking a moment to admire Finn, his hat gone and his teeth gleaming in the sun as he smiles, leading the children to freedom. _Kriff_ , but Poe’s lover is amazing. How did Poe get so lucky?

Poe is not going to swoon right here on the tarmac, as tempting as that might be.

“Got the rest of them,” Finn says as he reaches Poe, sounding deeply satisfied. “And these two ‘troopers surrendered right off, said they’d figured someone’d be along and they wanted to meet the spy who spared them.”

Poe feels his cheeks go pink. “Well, we have plenty of room in the transports,” he says weakly. “Let’s get the kids aboard. And then - um - we need to have a quick strategy meeting.”

“Oh?” Finn says, but he turns and gives a few quick orders, and his Pathfinders begin herding the children gently onto the ships, fifty cadets to a transport. Clover comes trotting over to stand beside Poe, and Point shakes his head when one of the Pathfinders tries to chivvy him onto a transport. Poe nods at the Pathfinder and gestures Point to join them; he’s likely to have valuable information, after all.

*

“So,” Poe says, once the cadets are all loaded onto the transports, “apparently we missed a trick.”

“Oh?” Finn asks, frowning.

“The transports we...replaced are bringing more children - infants,” Poe says, and Finn winces.

“Kriff,” he says. “That’s...bad.” He takes a deep breath. “Well. Obviously we have to get the babies, too. Which means I and my Pathfinders get to pretend to be good little First Order lackeys for a few days until the transports get here. But you’ve got to get the cadets back to base.”

Poe winces. “I could stay here with you? You’ll need a pilot.”

“We will need pilots,” Finn agrees, “but not you.” He glances at Point and Clover. “You’re the only person the cadets will trust even a _little_ , Poe. If you’re not with them, getting back to base could go...really badly.”

Point and Clover both nod. “I surrendered to _you_ , Poe Dameron,” Point says solemnly. “Not to - whoever else is on those ships.”

“Kriff,” Poe says, sighing. “Yeah, alright, I know you’re right. Very irritating habit you’ve got, you know, being right so much.”

“Dreadfully sorry,” Finn says, grinning. Poe sticks his tongue out.

“I’ll leave Pava with you,” he says. “I’ve got BB-8, he can co-pilot well enough, and she’ll be happy to have a little down-time with that handsome young Pathfinder.” He grimaces. “Okay, actually, I’ll leave one pilot from every transport - you’ll need to bring most of the ships along, if you’ve got more than a hundred babies to deal with.”

“We’ll strip the base,” Finn says, nodding. “Take everything useful, go through all the data and comm logs. And hey - this’ll net us another half dozen transports. The General should be pleased.”

“The General will mock me for bringing home more Stormtroopers,” Poe says, grinning, and reaches out to pull Finn into a long kiss. Point makes an astonished sound.

“Come back to me safe,” Poe says, softly, as Finn finally pulls away a little.

“I promise,” Finn says. “Get the kids home safe.”

“I promise,” Poe swears.

*

The trip back to the Resistance seems longer than it really is for two reasons. The first is that despite BB-8’s best efforts, Poe _does_ need to be awake for pretty much every hyperspace hop, which means he’s snatching sleep in two- and three-hour bursts between making sure the ship’s on course and keeping an eye on the cadets, who are thankfully very well-behaved. Poe suspects Point is responsible for that, since the two Pathfinders Finn sent on Poe’s ship seem more baffled by the cadets than anything else. Poe honestly can’t blame them. The kids are unnaturally silent, their idea of what to do with free time includes close-order drill in the holds, and they watch the adults with wide, wary eyes. It’s deeply disconcerting.

The other reason is, of course, that Poe has just left his lover deep in First Order space without a way to get home except for the imminent enemy transports. If the transports don’t come - or if they realize something’s wrong and don’t land - or if Finn’s Pathfinders don’t manage to subdue the First Order officers aboard the transports - if, if, if. If _anything_ goes wrong, that kiss on the tarmac might be the last one Poe ever gets from Finn - the sight of Finn waving as the transports lift off might be the last time Poe ever lays eyes on him.

Poe doesn’t sleep very well, those long days in transit. He knows he _needs_ to sleep, knows he can’t let himself get too tired to fly, but every time he closes his eyes he sees Finn waving, growing smaller and smaller as the transports lift away, and wants more desperately than he can ever recall wanting _anything_ to turn around and go back, to live or die at Finn’s side.

But of course he can’t, because he has a duty - to the Resistance, and to the poor confused children he’s rescued - so he sleeps fitfully and drinks far too much caf and brings the string of transports and their exhausted, sleep-deprived, triumphant pilots successfully out of hyperspace above the Resistance base.

“Commander Dameron reporting,” he says wearily into the comm. “Permission to land?”

“Come on down, Commander,” Tabala’s welcome tones reply. “How’d it go?”

“...Successful,” Poe says, “but also we had to improvise a little. I’m gonna need to see the General.”

“Hoo boy,” Tabala says. “Never a dull moment with you, is there, Dameron? Well, come on down and she’ll be waiting. Oh, and we’ve got somebody here who’s eager to see your young man - Skywalker and his apprentice are back.”

“Oh dear,” Poe says. “Well. This is going to be awkward.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Where’s Finn?” the young woman waiting on the tarmac snaps as soon as Poe comes out of the transport. Off to his right, the cadets are filing out of the ship, looking around in wonder. Clover is bouncing along beside Point, babbling eagerly.

“Finn is waiting to ambush the First Order transports - or, well, actually, hopefully he’s in hyperspace on his way back here _in_ the First Order transports,” Poe tells her. “With any luck, he’ll be back inside a week.”

Rey gives him a long, dubious look. “And you _left_ him there?”

Poe sighs. “Not by choice,” he says. “Believe me, if I could’ve stayed, I would have.”

Rey’s eyes narrow, and then, to Poe’s surprise, she nods. “Yeah, alright,” she says, and some of the tension goes out of her stance. “You’re telling the truth.” She turns to look at the other transports as they disgorge their loads of cadets and exhausted pilots - thankfully none of the other pilots looks _quite_ as wasted as Poe feels - and startles when she sees the youngest cadets filing out behind the adult Stormtroopers.

“Kriff,” she says quietly. “They start them so young.”

“Younger than that,” Poe says grimly. “Finn’s staying to intercept a shipment of _infants_.”

“...Well kriff,” Rey says. “Where are we going to _put_ all of them?”

“General said she’d arranged for safehouses,” Poe says, and then staggers a bit. Rey steps forward immediately to put an arm around his waist and hold him up, and seconds later Clover tucks herself under Poe’s other shoulder.

“You need sleep, sir,” she says firmly.

“Yeah, I do,” Poe agrees. “But not yet.”

Clover frowns up at him. “Sleep deprivation is dangerous,” she admonishes him firmly. “You are valuable and should not damage yourself.”

“Kiddo, believe me, there is a lot of sleep in my future,” Poe says, and looks up to see the General approaching. “General, ma’am, very briefly before I pass out: Finn and most of the Pathfinders and half of my pilots stayed to ambush the First Order transports in order to rescue the infants they’ve got aboard; they should be back within the week if all goes well. The leader of the cadets is named Point and he’s sharp as a tack. Clover can probably help you reassure the kids that medical doesn’t mean torture or decommissioning - yeah, kiddo?”

“Yes, sir!” Clover says, looking proud to have been given a job.

“..And you’ve been awake for a week, haven’t you,” the General says dryly. “Go get some sleep, Dameron, you can tell me the rest of it when you’re conscious.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe says, dredging a grin from somewhere, and goes stumbling off towards his quarters with Rey’s wiry arm around his waist to keep him from falling.

*

Poe wakes up some uncounted time later, curled around a pillow, and takes a moment to mourn the fact that Finn is not here in his arms. It’s astonishing how much more comfortable the transport’s thin bunks were, with Finn in them, than Poe’s own quite large bed is _without_ Finn.

BB-8 is charging in a corner, and Poe pats his droid gently as he heads for the refresher, emerging nearly half an hour later with his hair a mess and thinking wistfully of the way Finn likes to play with his hair when it’s newly clean and fluffy from the towel.

Rey is sitting on his bed holding a mug of caf, and Poe stops in the doorway to blink at her, grateful that he remembered to bring a pair of pants into the refresher with him - a habit he’s gotten into since he rescued Clover. “That for me?”

“Yes,” Rey says, and hands it to him. “The General said to see if you were up yet. The cadets want to see you.”

Poe drains half the caf in a gulp, grateful that it’s not too hot. “Let me just pull on a shirt and some shoes,” he says, and suits action to words. Rey waits until he’s dressed and has finished the caf before she says, “You and Finn are - lovers?”

“Yes,” Poe says carefully, hoping she’s not going to reveal her own enormous crush on Finn - that would be deeply unpleasant for everyone involved.

“Good,” she says, nodding firmly. “Finn deserves to be loved. If you hurt him, I’ll kill you. Is that clear?”

“Clear as Jakku sunshine,” Poe says, nodding back.

“Good,” Rey says again, and holds out a hand. Poe shakes it. “Then we can be friends.”

“...Awesome,” Poe agrees, grinning. If nothing else, the two of them can agree that Finn is wonderful - great friendships have been based on less.

*

The General is sitting in the mess hall, watching three hundred cadets discover bread rolls. Clover is handing out the food, grinning so widely it looks like it hurts; Point and the two adult Stormtroopers are sitting at the same table as the General, staring at the bread rolls in their hands. Poe joins them, accepting a roll from Clover with a grin. “Good morning, General, Point, everyone.”

“Good afternoon, Dameron,” General Organa says, smiling. “Feeling better?”

“Vastly,” Poe says, and turns to the Stormtroopers. “I didn’t catch your designations?”

“I am GZ-1800,” the female Stormtrooper says. “He’s GL-1503.” The male Stormtrooper nods, his mouth full of bread.

“Pleased to meet you both,” Poe says cheerfully. “I take it you’re the ones I knocked out, a few weeks back?”

“Yes, sir,” GZ-1800 says, smiling. “We were very surprised to wake up.”

Poe shrugs. “I don’t like killing people when I don’t have to.”

“Oh,” GZ-1800 says, looking very confused. And then, very hesitantly, adds, “Clover says you give ‘troopers names.”

“I only gave _one_ ‘trooper a name,” Poe protests. “Doc Kalonia named Clover.” GZ-1800 looks crestfallen. Poe sighs. “But I can try, if you want me to.”

The General snickers. Poe gives her a brief glare, and is met with a serene smile.

“Yes, please,” GZ-1800 says, and Poe puts his chin in his hand and frowns, thinking hard. If BB-8 were here -

The little droid bumps against his knee, and Poe beams, leaning down to pat BB-8 on the dome. “You still got that file I gave you a while back?” he asks. The droid beeps in mock-offense and projects the list Poe got off the holonet weeks ago, during the long days while Finn was unconscious and Poe was trying desperately to find _anything_ to distract himself. He scrolls through the file quickly. “GA...GR....aha! GZ. Gzara, Gzinta, Gzitha…”

“Gzitha,” the Stormtrooper says. “I like that.”

“Awesome,” Poe says, grinning at her. “Does your friend want a name, too?”

GL-1503 shakes his head. “Glory,” he says, very quietly.

“Glory and Gzitha,” Poe says, smiling at both of them. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Poe Dameron.”

“We know, sir,” Gzitha says, grinning back. Poe wrinkles his nose at her, then turns back to the General.

“So, aside from naming one of our new guests, did you have anything for me to do, ma’am?”

“Well, I’d like a full debrief,” General Organa says. “Wexley said something about your young ward shooting the enemy commander in the head at close range?”

Poe sighs. “Right,” he says wearily. “So. This is what happened…”

*

After the debrief, Poe spends the first few days herding cadets to medical, making sure all his pilots have gotten enough sleep, and arguing with Clover. _Poe_ wants her to go with the other cadets when they’re sent to the safe planets the General has found, to be looked after by people with far better childcare skills than Poe has. Clover refuses to even consider leaving his side.

It’s Rey, of all people, who breaks the stalemate. “She’s not a child,” she tells Poe firmly, over breakfast, during iteration four hundred and some-odd of the argument. “Yeah, she’s only ten, but she’s no more a child than _I_ was at that age. Neither is Point. Childhood doesn’t last long for people like us.”

“Ah,” says Poe, and winces. “Okay, fair, but she’s _ten_. If she gets hurt because she’s with us, that’s on _me_.”

Rey considers that for a minute. “How about a compromise?” she suggests. “Clover gets to stay, but she’s assigned duties with the cooks or the medics, and the _instant_ it looks like there’s going to be trouble, she heads for the _Falcon_. We’ll be able to keep her safe.”

Poe grimaces. “That’s the best I’m going to get, isn’t it,” he says. Clover nods, looking as stubborn as the proverbial mule - not that Poe’s quite sure what a mule is, but it can’t possibly be any more stubborn than his accidental ward. “Alright. Non-combat duty, and you run for the _Falcon_ as soon as the alarms go, because I did not rescue you so that you could die in a raid, kiddo.”

“Yes, sir,” Clover says firmly.

Poe sighs. “When I tell my Da about this, he’s going to laugh till he cries,” he tells Rey mournfully. “He kept telling me someday I’d have a kid that drove me as crazy as I did him, and by the Force, he was right.”

Rey giggles. Clover makes a little squeaking sound of surprise. Poe blinks at her, and she ducks her head. “Really, sir?” she asks quietly.

Oh. _Oh._ Well, Poe said it, he’s not going to back down now. “Yeah,” he says gently. “You’re stuck with me, kiddo.”

Clover scrambles out of her seat and stumbles around the table to throw herself into Poe’s arms, and Poe cradles her close, rocking her gently the way he learned to rock his young cousins when they were scared or sad or overwhelmed. “I gotcha,” he murmurs. “I gotcha, kiddo. You’re stuck with me.”

Clover clings back, and Poe sits there while his shoulder grows wet with happy tears, smiling down into his accidental daughter’s messy hair.


	8. Chapter 8

So during the day Poe is able to keep himself busy - three hundred confused baby Stormtroopers will cause a _lot_ of chaos, even unintentionally - but during the night, when his bed is too large and too cold and the pillow is _not_ a sufficient substitute for his lover - well, Poe doesn’t sleep very well. He’s trying hard, so very hard, not to fret, because Finn is _Finn_ , is terrifyingly competent and tactically brilliant, and he has almost two dozen Pathfinders and six pilots and the element of surprise on his side, and _surely_ the only reason they haven’t heard anything yet is because Finn is very sensibly not transmitting anything that could be intercepted. Surely Finn is on his way home even now, with six transports full of infants under his command and a thoroughly wrecked First Order base behind him.

Surely.

Poe has never understood quite so _viscerally_ his father’s stories about waiting on the tarmac for his mother to return from battle, feeling his gut clench with fear far more bitterly than during his own engagements. It’s one thing for _Poe_ to go into battle, to know that death is imminent and only luck and skill preserve him; but this endless deadly _waiting_ , knowing he can do _nothing_ -

It’s enough to drive a man mad.

It takes five days, in the end, five days of herding traumatized baby Stormtroopers through medical and consulting with Point about their needs, five days of sorting through the information they brought back from the looted base and making tentative battle plans, five days of reading off lists and lists and _lists_ of names, as tiny baby Stormtroopers listen intently, five nights of curling around a pillow and staring sleepless into the darkness.

And on the sixth day, Poe’s comm beeps, and Tabala’s warm voice on the other end says, “Get on down to the landing field, Commander Dameron. We’ve got some incoming people I think you’ll want to see.”

Poe whoops in joy, making Clover startle badly, and springs up from the mess hall table. “Finn!” he cries, and Rey and Clover leap to their feet as well.

Poe beats them out to the landing field, hope and love giving his feet wings, and so he’s there to see six enormous First Order transports land, slowly and ponderously, on the tarmac, and open their great gaping doors; and from the first transport a figure comes leaping down to the ground and _sprints_ across to Poe. Poe opens his arms, and Finn skids to a stop and hauls Poe into an embrace so tight Poe’s ribs creak, whirling him around in glee, and then bends him back in a kiss that makes Poe’s head reel. He clutches at Finn’s shoulders and only faintly notices the cheers from the disembarking Pathfinders, the laughter from the base personnel who have come streaming out to greet the ships - there is nothing in the galaxy so important as this kiss.

Some long, uncounted time later, Finn pulls Poe carefully upright again and pulls away just far enough to rest their foreheads together. “I missed you,” he says quietly.

“So kriffing much,” Poe agrees fervently.

Finn smiles, and kisses Poe again, short and sweet and perfect, and then turns, one arm still around Poe, and holds his other arm out to Rey, who flings both arms around him and laughs.

Poe chuckles and extricates himself carefully from Finn’s arm to go and see how his pilots have managed to endure the week in hyperspace, Clover at his heels, and by the time he’s gotten his exhausted pilots off to their bunks and helped coordinate the offloading of nearly a hundred and fifty infants - and he is _not_ thinking about the fact that there are only ninety fifteen-year-old cadets, because that way madness lies - Finn and Rey have stopped babbling delightedly at each other, and Finn is giving a brief report to the General. Poe joins Rey and Clover off to one side, watching the chaos turn slowly into organized bustle.

“You’re good together,” Rey says quietly. “You...sing in the Force.”

Poe blinks. “We do?”

“You’re happy,” Rey says. “It spills over.”

“...Good to know,” Poe says, slightly baffled.

“Also, you kind of need a flowing dress if he’s going to kiss you like that,” Rey adds, grinning wickedly, and Poe puts a hand over his face and sighs.

“Does _everyone_ cast me as a romance heroine?” he asks plaintively.

“Pretty much,” Rey tells him unrepentantly. “It’s all the swooning. And pining. And so on.”

Clover giggles. Poe just sighs.

*

“Honestly it was pretty straightforward,” Finn says that evening over dinner. He and Poe and Rey and Clover and Point have laid claim to one of the smaller tables in the mess hall, and Poe, looking around, can’t help thinking that it feels almost like a family dinner at home on Yavin. Kriff, has Poe managed to accidentally adopt _two_ baby Stormtroopers without noticing?

“They landed, we got the officers and ‘troopers off, told ‘em to surrender, they didn’t, we shot them.” Finn shrugs. Poe suspects it wasn’t _nearly_ that easy, but he’s not going to say so. If Finn wants to gloss over his own heroism, Poe’s not going to embarrass him by calling it out. “The hardest part was dealing with that many babies,” Finn adds ruefully. “The docdroids all had to be reprogrammed so they weren’t...awful, and then we all took shifts on cuddling them, because Jkaa said human babies need skin contact, and with four of us per ship we could give them almost four hours each per day, so...I’ve been spit up on a lot.” He grins ruefully. “Thankfully the sonics worked.” He raises an eyebrow at Poe. “Do you know where we’re taking them? We _can’t_ keep them here.”

“The General’s been very close-mouthed about that, actually,” Poe says, shrugging. “But now that you’re back, I expect she’ll start moving out everyone who will _go_ ,” he wrinkles his nose at Clover, who gives him a very stubborn look in return, “as soon as possible.”

“I’m not leaving,” Point says mildly.

Poe sighs and leans his forehead against Finn’s shoulder. Finn chuckles and runs his fingers soothingly through Poe’s hair. “It’s a _good_ thing when people like you enough to want to have your back,” he points out, sounding very amused.

“They’re _children_ ,” Poe says, muffled by Finn’s sleeve.

“They’re cadets,” Finn says quietly. “It’s...not quite the same.”

Poe sighs. “I know,” he says wearily. “But still.”

Finn pats him gently on the back. “When the war is over,” he says, “there will be no more stolen children.”

“True,” Poe says softly, and straightens up. “In aid of which, there is almost certainly some paperwork I should be doing.”

The wave of laughter that follows him from the table leaves him with a smile that takes hours to fade, even in the face of the seemingly endless pile of paperwork that awaits him.

*

“...And Dameron, you’ll be taking the last transport,” General Organa says, nodding to Poe.

“Ma’am?” Poe asks, confused. Bringing the children to their new safe homes is not a high-priority mission; surely there is a scouting run Poe should be on? General Organa chuckles and slides a datapad across the table to him, and Poe thumbs it on and glances down at the coordinates, then slowly starts to smile.

“Permission to bring Finn along, ma’am?” he asks hopefully.

“Granted, Dameron,” General Organa says, sounding vastly amused. “Now hop - I want you back inside a week.”

“Aye aye,” Poe says, and hops.

Finn is confused but willing to go along, once Poe assures him that General Organa okayed it; Clover, to Poe’s mild bemusement, refuses adamantly.

“If I go with you, you’ll try to convince me to stay,” she says. “I’m going to stay here with Padawan Rey until you get back.”

Poe shrugs and lets it go. Rey and Doctor Kalonia and the cooks will all help keep an eye on Clover and Point, and he’s not terribly worried that they’ll get into trouble anyway, sensible children that they are - and he’ll be back inside a week, after all.

“So, where are we going?” Finn asks, as he and Poe settle into the cockpit of the last transport, one of the repurposed First Order ones, which will be taking nearly a hundred five- and ten-year-olds to their new homes.

“It’s a surprise,” Poe replies, grinning. “But it’ll only take us about a day to get there, so I won’t keep you in suspense too long.”

“...Only about a day?” Finn asks, startled. “But we’ve got a week, you said…”

Poe’s grin gets wider. “You’ll understand when we get there,” he says cheerfully, and takes the transport up.


	9. Chapter 9

Poe puts the transport down on a landing strip surrounded by green fields and distant jungles. There’s a crowd waiting, men and women and children of all ages, and Finn peers out of the viewscreen curiously. “They look a lot like you,” he says thoughtfully, and then swings around to stare at Poe. “Is this _Yavin_?”

“Welcome to Yavin 4, buddy,” Poe replies, cheeks aching from his smile. “Let’s get the kids unloaded, and then you can meet my Da.”

Finn hesitates. “Are you sure?”

Poe reels his lover in for the absolute sweetest kiss he can give. “Completely,” he says quietly. “I love you. He’ll love you, too. He’d love _anyone_ I brought home, but you - you’re a hero, Finn. You saved my life, and you’re - you’re amazing.”

“If you’re sure,” Finn says dubiously, and heads down to help herd the children out into the warm sunshine. The children line up in ranks as soon as they’re out of the ship - Poe sighs to himself, but a scant week of freedom is not enough to undo a lifetime of training - and Poe heads across the landing field to the old woman waiting at the head of the eager crowd.

“Grandmama,” Poe says when he reaches her, and lets her hug him and kiss his forehead and muss his hair, as she always does. She’s not actually his grandmother, but everyone on Yavin calls her ‘Grandmama,’ and insofar as anyone truly gives the orders on Yavin, it’s her.

“Getting yourself into trouble, young Poe?” she asks, grinning up at him. Poe offers her his arm, grinning back. “That’s a fair lot of children you’ve brought us - been busy out there, have you?”

Poe chuckles. “Alas, they’re not mine,” he says, pulling a mock-distressed face to make the old woman laugh. “But I _have_ been busy.” He glances up to see Finn come to attention at the head of the ranked cadets, and Grandmother Elizabette follows his glance and chuckles.

“Finally, someone caught our young Poe’s eye?” she asks. “A fine figure of a man, to be sure. Good choice!”

Poe knows he’s blushing, but he stops in front of Finn with a broad smile. “Grandmama, this is Finn. Finn, this is Grandmother Elizabette, the head of the Yavin 4 colony.”

“None of that!” Grandmother Elizabette scolds. “You’ll call me ‘Grandmama,’ young Finn. Welcome!”

“Thank you, Grandmama,” Finn says, bowing gracefully to the inevitable. Grandmother Elizabette nods firmly and walks past him to look the cadets over. They all stare back, wide-eyed, and Poe realizes that Grandmother Elizabette might actually be the oldest person they’ve ever seen. The First Order isn’t big on keeping ‘useless’ people around, after all, from what Finn’s told the Resistance, and certainly none of the officers or Stormtroopers Poe’s ever seen are more than middle-aged.

“Welcome,” Grandmother Elizabette says at last, to the ranks of traumatized baby Stormtroopers who have never had a grandmother before. “I am Grandmama Eliza, and you are all welcome here on Yavin 4. Come and meet your new family.” She waves an arm, and the crowd of Yavinese civilians comes surging forward, eager to welcome the cadets. Poe tugs Finn off to one side out of the way and watches as the children, baffled, are absorbed into the horde, beginning to lose some of their stiffness as they are plied with treats and questions and handmade tunics.

“Grandmama will see to it that they all have someone to go home with,” Poe assures Finn. “And there’ll be a feast tonight to welcome them home.”

“So easily?” Finn asks, incredulous. Poe sighs.

“Do you know how Yavin was settled?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Finn says, frowning. “I know it was a Rebellion base, during the last war.”

Poe nods. “After that, well, some of the soldiers remembered it fondly, and they told their friends, and, well...a lot of the Alderaanian refugees ended up here. We know what it is to not have a home. If we can open our homes to those who have none - we will. It’s that simple.”

“Oh,” Finn says, and wraps a warm arm around Poe’s shoulders, pulling him close and watching the happy chaos with new eyes. “Thank you,” he says at last. “It’s good to know they’ll have a place here, after everything they’ve been through.”

“So do you,” Poe says quietly. Finn turns to blink at him. “This is my home, so it’s yours, too. I mean - we haven’t made it official yet or anything - but I don’t plan to ever leave you, buddy.”

“No, never,” Finn says, and pulls Poe into a deep, hungry kiss. Poe sways into it, moaning softly into Finn’s mouth, and he’s not sure how long they would have stood there kissing if not for the sound of someone clearing his throat beside them. Poe glances over and then breaks the kiss to lean his forehead against Finn’s and sigh.

“Hi, Da,” he says when he’s caught his breath. Finn goes stiff and still beside him.

“Hi, son,” Kes Dameron says, voice full of amusement. “I see you’ve got something to tell me.”

*

“Da, this is Finn,” Poe says, grinning. “Finn, this is my Da, Kes Dameron. He was a Pathfinder in the last war.”

“A pleasure,” Kes says, holding out a hand. Finn shakes it firmly. “If I’d known Poe was bringing a...special friend, I’d have baked a cake.”

“If I’d known I was coming, I’d have sent word,” Finn says, smiling. “Poe decided it would make a good surprise.”

“Yep, he’ll do that,” Kes agrees, nodding. Poe sighs at the look of mischief on his father’s face. “All for surprises, my boy. Did he ever tell you about the time -”

“Maybe not just _now_ , Da?” Poe asks desperately. “Please? Can I show Finn the house and maybe get a meal into him before you embarrass me completely?”

“If you insist,” Kes says, chuckling. “Come along, then, lads, it’s not such a long way to walk.” They fall in beside him, heading away from the mess of baffled children and happy Yavinese. “So. How did you come to meet my son, Finn?”

“He saved my life, Da,” Poe says quietly, before Finn can answer. Kes’ eyebrows go up. “I got caught, hauled onto a First Order ship, and I was slated for execution the next morning. Finn got me out.”

Kes hauls Poe into a tight embrace, then reaches out and reels Finn in, too, clinging tightly to both of them. Poe squeaks a little - his father has not gotten noticeably weaker in the years since his retirement from the Rebellion. “Thank you,” Kes says to Finn, voice shaking. “Thank you.”

“He saved me, too,” Finn says, smiling at Poe. “Not that he’ll mention that, of course. Your son’s a hero, Mr. Dameron, never doubt it.”

“Call me Kes,” Kes says instantly. “Or possibly Da, because if Poe’s brought you home to meet the family, I expect there’s a wedding in your future. And I know he’s a hero, because I wake up shaking every night wondering if today’s the day I’ll hear his heroics have ended badly.” He starts walking again, Poe and Finn on either side of him. “If it’s thanks to you he survived one of his fool heroic stunts, then you’ve my undying gratitude, lad, and don’t you forget it. So. Let me get some food on the table and find some good wine, and you can tell me how, exactly, you came to save my son’s life.”

“Yes, sir!” Finn says, grinning when Kes scowls at him.

*

“I was a Stormtrooper,” Finn says bluntly, over bowls of Poe’s Da’s hearty chicken stew and good thick slices of bread with butter. Kes’ eyebrows rise.

“I didn’t realize being a Stormtrooper was something you could quit,” he says mildly.

“Up until very recently, it wasn’t,” Finn replies, smiling at Poe. Poe grins back. “I think I may have been the first to successfully leave the First Order any way other than _dead_.”

“I see,” Kes says, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. “So you were a Stormtrooper, and my son was captured.”

Finn nods. “I...had just realized that I _desperately_ needed to not be a Stormtrooper anymore. My first combat mission involved slaughtering unarmed civilians, and I simply could not do it. If I had stayed on the _Finalizer_ , I would have been reconditioned - or decommissioned. Either way, I would have effectively been dead.” He shrugs. “But, of course, Stormtroopers aren’t trained to fly TIE fighters. So I needed a pilot.” He glances at Poe. “And our prisoner was known to be the best pilot in the Resistance.”

Poe grins back, remembering that desperate, baffling moment in a Star Destroyer corridor when the Stormtrooper he’d _thought_ was bringing him to his execution had pulled off his helmet and demanded to know if Poe could fly a TIE. ‘I can fly anything’ - cocky, but so far, absolutely true. He _had_ flown the TIE, quite well too, at least up until they’d gotten hit, and even then, he’d put them down in one piece.

Kes raises an eyebrow at Finn. “So you and my son stole a TIE fighter.”

Finn nods. Kes considers this for a long moment, then chuckles.

“Well, that beats the story of how I met Shara all to hell,” he says at last. “Welcome to the family, Finn.” He gives Poe a long look. “Any _other_ surprises for me?”

“...I might have adopted a traumatized baby Stormtrooper?” Poe says, shrugging.

Kess puts his face in his hands and laughs.


	10. Chapter 10

Poe’s old room is up in the attic, because as a child he loved being up high - spent long hours on the roof or up in the top branches of the Force-tree out back, until at last he was old enough to learn to fly, and then, well, he mostly only came down when his ship ran out of fuel. The window of his bedroom looks out on the tree, in fact, and when Poe was much younger and smaller he could slide out the window and down a particularly long branch and right into the tree’s canopy, easy as breathing.

Finn looks out at the blue-green tree in fascination for a long time, and then turns to grin at Poe. “I see why you like this tree,” he says cheerfully. “It’s very friendly.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Poe agrees, and steps forward into Finn’s open arms, into a kiss that leaves him gasping. Finn steers Poe backwards carefully until Poe’s legs bump against the bed, and Poe tumbles back onto it with a grin, laughing as Finn joins him rather less precipitously, his weight pinning Poe quite effectively to the bed.

“Gotcha,” Finn says smugly, and Poe kisses that smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “You do. Whatcha gonna do with me?”

“What would you like?” Finn asks, quirking an eyebrow. Poe licks his lips and hums thoughtfully.

“Surprise me,” he says at last.

Finn laughs aloud and kisses Poe, sweet and hungry, until Poe is gasping and clutching at Finn’s shoulders, and then, to Poe’s surprise, rolls them both over, so Poe is sprawled across him. Poe blinks down at his lover.

“Okay, I’m surprised,” he says slowly. “Now what?”

“Now,” Finn says, grinning broadly, “we both take off our clothing -” Poe can’t help laughing, because yeah, that might be a good first step - “and I get my fingers into you and get you nice and wet and open -” Poe whimpers quietly - “and then, if you want, you ride me until we’re both screaming with pleasure.”

“...Kriff,” Poe says faintly. “You make _good_ plans, buddy.”

Finn’s smile is more than a little smug. “So people keep telling me,” he says.

Poe kisses him hard, and then rolls away and starts wriggling out of his clothing, because a plan like that deserves _full_ cooperation. Finn laughs and stands up to shuck his own clothes, and Poe gets distracted halfway through taking his pants off because Finn is always so kriffing _gorgeous_ , all strength and grace and undeniable beauty, and Poe is frankly the luckiest man in the galaxy. Finn looks up from folding his clothing and laughs at Poe. Poe sticks out his tongue.

“So you’re a little distracting,” he says, trying to sound grumpy instead of lustful and failing completely, for what he thinks are understandable reasons.

“So are _you_ ,” Finn says, and gives Poe a once-over that makes Poe’s ears go hot. Poe makes a strangled sound and stumbles out of his pants and into Finn’s open arms.

Finn kisses him long and sweet and slow, until Poe is shaking with desire and reasonably incapable of coherent thought, which is his excuse for the fact that when Finn finally pulls away just far enough to rest their foreheads together, his hands warm on Poe’s hips, what Poe says is, “I have got to update that list.”

“List?” Finn inquires curiously. Poe blushes.

“Of all the ways you’ve kissed me,” he says sheepishly.

“...Really,” Finn says, sounding interested. “Show it to me sometime?”

Poe blinks at him in confusion. Finn’s smile gets wider. “I want to know which ones I’m missing,” he says quietly, bringing one hand up to run his thumb along Poe’s lower lip, hand cradling Poe’s cheek.

“...Oh,” Poe says faintly, and licks his lips - and, by accident, Finn’s thumb. Finn’s eyes widen. Poe has a sudden, mischievous thought and licks Finn’s thumb again, opens his mouth a little and then bites down gently as Finn crooks his thumb. “Caught you,” he mumbles around the digit.

“Yeah, you did,” Finn says, soft and wondering, and pulls his hand away gently, leaning in to kiss Poe again. The kiss starts soft and sweet, and Poe smiles into it, but then it changes, grows _hungry_ , and Poe’s knees go weak.

“That plan you had,” he says - croaks, really, if he’s being honest - “we should - we should make that happen.”

“Yeah?” Finn asks, sounding _far_ too composed, and tips Poe back onto the bed. Poe lands with a thump, sprawling out and laughing, and Finn rummages through his pants pocket for a moment before emerging triumphant with a little bottle of lube. “Knew I brought this for a reason.”

Poe laughs harder, and then stops laughing entirely in favor of moaning when Finn kneels down between his legs and runs a slick, gentle finger over his entrance. “Kriff,” Finn says softly, almost reverently, and Poe agrees completely, he really does, and he’ll say as much just as soon as he can get three brain cells together and make some sort of sound that isn’t incoherent, desperate moaning. But really, how is he supposed to manage coherency with one - no, two - no, kriff, _three_ blunt, warm, gentle fingers spreading him wide?

And then Finn is pulling his fingers away, and Poe makes a sort of unhappy little sound and then remembers the _rest_ of Finn’s plan, and manages to get enough coordination together to scramble up onto his knees as Finn sprawls out next to him. Poe can’t quite help stroking his hands over Finn’s lovely chest, bending to kiss the starburst scar on Finn’s shoulder, the elegant line of Finn’s throat, the curve of Finn’s lips as he smiles, and by the time he manages to get his brain back he’s straddling Finn’s waist, hands braced on the pillow on either side of Finn’s head.

“Like this?” Poe asks, and Finn nods and reaches down between them, and Poe gets his knees a little more firmly under him and sits up and back and - slowly, carefully - _down_ , and - oh.

“Kriff,” he says faintly. Finn moans softly. Poe takes a deep breath and settles himself a little more firmly, braces his hands carefully on Finn’s chest. Finn wraps his own hands around Poe’s hips, warm and steady, and Poe meets his lover's eyes and grins. “You feel so kriffing good,” he admits.

“You’re -” Finn says, and breaks off with a moan as Poe shifts his weight. “Kriff, you’re gorgeous.”

“You’re gorgeous-er,” Poe retorts, and can’t help laughing at the look of mingled exasperation and desire on Finn’s face - and then Finn gets his feet under him, knees warm against Poe’s back, and tightens his hands a little on Poe’s hips, and _thrusts_ , and Poe isn’t laughing any more because he’s too busy _moaning_. But it’s not fair to make Finn do all the work, surely, so Poe gets his knees under him and finds the rhythm of Finn’s movement, and then they’re _both_ moaning, and the bed is creaking, and Finn’s face is transformed by ecstasy from simply lovely to unearthly beauty.

Poe does, in fact, end up screaming in pleasure as he comes, but really, he feels this is completely forgivable. _Anyone_ in his particular situation - with Finn’s lovely cock buried deep inside him and one of Finn’s glorious hands wrapped tight around his own cock and Finn’s beautiful face transfigured with pleasure - really, anyone would have the same reaction.

Not that anyone else is ever likely to have the opportunity, if Poe has anything to say about it, but still.

“So beautiful,” Finn says raggedly, still staring up at Poe as if in wonder, and Poe sprawls inelegantly down atop his lover and kisses him just as well as he knows how.

“I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on who, exactly, the beautiful man in this bed is,” he says after a few long, delightful minutes.

“Mmm, yes, I think you’re right,” Finn says, smiling.

“Of course I’m right, I’m always right,” Poe says smugly. “Fell in love with _you_ , didn’t I?”

“So you did,” Finn says, and kisses Poe so sweetly that it almost hurts. Poe kisses back. In the morning, they’ll need to deal with saying goodbye to Kes and making sure all the cadets have found families and probably fielding umpteen bajillion questions from Poe’s entire extended family about his handsome young man, and after that there’s a war on and they’re needed back on base, where Clover and Point and Rey are waiting - but for right now, there is nothing more urgent in the galaxy than kissing Finn, easy and deep and sweet as honey, here in this place of safety beneath the dim blue-green shadow of the Force-blessed tree.

**Author's Note:**

> This will update M-T-W-Th-F for two weeks.


End file.
